


Open mouth, Insert Foot

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anger, Angst, F/M, Hot smexing, Jealousy, Sex, Smut, admitting love without wanting to, reconsiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is controlled, she us disciplined and composed. Nothing can make her mask slip. She hasn't even shown Fenris how much his leaving hurt her, and she has no intention to. But somethings are beyond even her and when she realises Fenris has taken up with Isabela, jealousy makes her lose her focus, just for an instance.<br/>For the elf that has lost all hope of her ever forgiving him, that one slip of tongue is enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open mouth, Insert Foot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tayhlia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tayhlia/gifts).



> I had written this piece for my dear friend Tayhlia who had requested a one-shot where Hawke blurts out that she loves Fenris and then flees...and he runs after her and hot sexiness ensues. Romantic!  
> I had even lost this file completely, and thankfully Tay sent it back to me. And since this was a present, she had the option of keeping it to herself, so if you like it thank her for sharing it with you.  
> Comments are love...need I beg?

It shouldn’t have mattered so much- she should have been over him by now. It had been three years. She hid her face in her hands, breathing deeply to keep the tears that threatened to spill in. _Three years_.

She had learned that time heals all, that all things could be achieved with patience and perseverance. In was a lesson her father had drilled into her with gruesome, relentless practice. Control. Patience. Time. When she had been a little girl, hot-blooded and impatient, a wild thing that had no restrain, Malcolm Hawke had patiently, tenderly but with a firm hand, taught his wilful, high-spirited little spitfire of a daughter that control was everything, and that with time –and patience- even things that seemed impossible could be mastered.

She had learned her lessons well- she was controlled, ultimately disciplined. She had to, or else risk losing herself to her talent. Mages could not allow even the merest slip in their control- mages had to learn to be in command of their emotions because more often than not, emotions were their undoing.

But when it came to him...when it came to him, the one man she had allowed herself to love, the one man that had managed to rob her of her hard-earned discipline and control...when it came to him, she had no defences. Control had been lost the moment his lips had touched hers, one glorious, passionate night three years ago. Patience had done her no good- she had been waiting ever since for him to come back and her patience was running thin.

Time...time had defeated her.

She had tried, really she had tried. _Give him time_ , she’d told herself again and again. _Time will make it all better. In time, he will come back, or you will learn not to love him_.

But time had betrayed her.

Instead of getting better every day, instead of looking at him and aching less and less every day, the pain got worse and then worse still, until it was an almost constant ache in her soul. Like a pebble stuck in a shoe, it was always there, a relentless, continuous pang that was almost physical- strong enough to hinder her every day movement, not strong enough to cause her the level of agony that would make her body rebel against it. She had thought that nothing could be as bad as those first few days after he had slinked out of her bed in the middle of the night, offering her useless, feeble excuses. But she had been wrong- three years later, and she still ached, her heart still bled at the memory. It was like there was an open wound in her heart, bleeding on the inside. She’d thought that time would heal that wound- but it hadn’t.

That little pebble was sometimes a huge boulder that crushed her heart. Time had made it worse. Control did her no good. And she was sick of being patient.

She pressed her palm against her mouth and rocked back and forth; an angry, frustrated cry was clawing its way out of her chest, a cry that had been building for three long years, three years of looking at the man she loved and aching, and hoping, and dreaming of one day touching him again, of one day seeing that rare smile of his light his face only for her.

Instead, Isabella had gotten it.

Inara Hawke felt the first tears slide down her face at the memory: Isabela had walked into the room, and Fenris had raised his head...and smiled at her.

That open, unreserved little smirk, the way his eyes had warmed at the sight of the Rivaini pirate...the intimacy and casual acceptance it had revealed. Nothing had hurt as much as seeing that, not even the Arishok’s blade going through her gut.

She didn’t know how she’d controlled herself, how she’d hidden the way her hands trembled. Desperate not to let her pain show, she’d stayed on for as long as she could take it, before making her excuses and leaving in the dead of night, her every step taking more effort than she could bare. One step in front of the other, concentrating on the movement of her feet, until she’d reached the door of Varric’s suite. She’d cast on last look behind her as she was opening the door- and nearly cried out.

Isabela’s hand was on his thigh under the table- and he let it there, unconcerned, not scowling or snapping at Isabela like he would have at Hawke. Tears had blinded her as she went down the stairs, but she stubbornly blinked them back. She’d fled the tavern as if all the demons in the Fade were behind her, and perhaps they were...their whispers cajoled her as she ran, telling her to let them in and she would have no more reason to cry again.

She had managed to shut them out. She’d managed not to let herself cry. She’d had to grit her teeth, but no tears escaped her.  She couldn’t control them now, though, sitting here under the shadow of the Chantry, looking at the empty square in front of her with unseeing eyes.

 _Damn it, Fenris_ , she thought. _Damn it. Why? What did she have to offer you that I didn't?_

Jealousy roared inside her making her clench her fists, lending her the strength she needed to fight the bitter tears that were running down her face. She clamped on to it, using it to get herself under control again, using it to quench the pain and bitterness that was making her whole body shake. She wouldn’t be weak, damn it, she wouldn’t break down and cry like a little girl. She was the Champion of Kirkwall, had the scars to prove it.

What if he never wanted her? What if he never loved her?

What if he preferred the pirate whore to her?

More tears welled and her temperature started going up. She felt her skin hot, blistering. Magic flared under her skin, as anger started making her blood boil, turning her violet eyes to a deeper shade of almost purple. _Good_ , she thought. Anger was good. Anger was better than grief. She could control anger, she knew it well, intimately, like an old friend. She had no defence against sadness and grief- but rage and anger...she could handle those.

She rose to her feet, sparks of magic igniting as she pulled the staff from her back and clenched it in her trembling hands. So Fenris and Isabela were together...so what? He didn’t need her, he didn’t want her. So what?

She was the Champion if Kirkwall- she was needed, she was necessary. The whole city depended on her for safety and protection. That was something... wasn’t it?

Her anger boiled over and she stepped down from the Chantry steps, clenching her hands around her staff. She rolled her shoulders and looked up to the sky, her eyes glinting. There were people to kill, lowlifes that lurked in the dark, dangerous corners of this city that she had to take care of. There was no time for grief, no time for regret.

She walked off in search of someone, something to kill- she was the Champion, it was her job. It was all she had left- now that her family was gone, now that the man she had been waiting for had moved on, all she had left was duty.

She drew her waterskin and took a huge gulp as she was going down the stairs to Lowtown, but the bitter taste in her mouth would just not go away.

* * *

Fenris was returning to his derelict mansion. After all these years living there he still refused to refer to the place as ‘home’. It was just a place that served as shelter against the elements- a place to sleep. Home had to be much more than that. Home..home would be a place where someone belonged and he had never felt that. Not until that night he’d spent with Hawke – which had been ruined by his fleeting memories and the anguish they had brought him. He had found belonging briefly in her arms, in the welcoming heat of her body as she cradled him inside her- but it hadn’t lasted.

He shook those thought out of his mind, chastising himself. It was weakness to think of things like that- it was weakness and, furthermore, it was futile. He had ruined what might have been with Hawke when he walked out on her. She hadn’t ever referred to the night between them, and she had grown cold and distant towards him.

In his frustration, he had accepted Isabela’s offer for a casual romp one night, aching to rediscover that level of intimate connection to some other living person again- but it hadn’t been the same. All that he had sated was the physical demands of his body, his lust- his heart had been left aching. It hadn’t been the same. He hadn’t been able to recapture that soul-deep level of belonging, that feeling of rightness. Isabela was a skilful lover; Fenris had no doubt she could make even a dead man respond and find his pleasure. If Fenris had never lain with Hawke he would have thought that lovemaking couldn’t get any more pleasurable than with the pirate- but his one night with the fiery little mage had ruined him for any other woman.

Isabela- surprisingly- had understood. She’d laughed at him good-naturedly and called him a fool for not going after Hawke all that time. To Fenris’ shock the whole experience had left him with a new friend- a friend that now knew exactly how far his markings went, and didn’t mind giving him a piece of her mind. He had thought that if Isabela found out that he still could think of no other woman than Hawke, she would be jilted, even offended. Instead, the busty pirate had spent many afternoons at his mansion, drinking amicably with him, not even remotely territorial. They had talked about many things, but one subject returned to their conversations again and again- and that was Hawke, the only point of disagreement between them.

Fenris ached at the mention of her, of the opportunity he had been given and tossed away and so he growled and said he didn’t want to talk about it- Isabela laughed and told him that Hawke was crazy about him, that she still wanted him, but he was too much of a blind idiot to see. Fenris would scoff every time, but Isabela was certain and she insisted, until her comments had started making him utterly miserable.

How could she still want him, as the Rivaini pirate insisted? She barely spoke to him. She hardly ever acknowledged him.

“She’ll find someone else, one day, tiger,” the pirate would drawl, gulping down his wine. “Someone else will get into her knickers. It might even be me.”

Fenris sighed now, remembering. He had agreed to give it a try, after Isabela’s constant, persistent needling. He had agreed to attempt to show Hawke that he was still interested, if for nothing else than to get the pirate off his back.

 _Venhedis_ , it was difficult. He had tried to catch her eye today, to talk to her, but she’d avoided his gaze all night. Isabela had slipped her hand on his thigh at some point- just as Hawke was getting up to leave- and nodded encouragingly, but his throat had been dry and words had failed him. He’d just sat there, aching to find some way to catch her attention, but dreading it as well, until she’d gotten up and left.

Maybe it had been for the best, he comforted himself now. It would have been unbearably awkward if the rest of their companions had gotten wind of his efforts and intentions- if Varric especially hadn’t been so deeply focused on his card game, he would have made some lewd, sarcastic comment and mortified Fenris. No, it would be better if he spoke to Hawke alone, without an audience.

His step slowed and he shook his head to clear his thoughts as he heard the din of battle and shouts from a side alley. He frowned, and his hand climbed to the hilt of his sword by habit before he controlled himself. He drew back, keeping to the shadows- it was reckless to get involved in the scuffle between the lowlifes of Lowtown; it might even be a trap by slavers.

He took a few steps back, determined to turn around and go his way once he was out of hearing distance, when his markings gave a curious tingle, the one that usually meant there was powerful magic being cast nearby. His head whipped to the side, a tight scowl darkening his handsome features. So. It was a mage that was fighting in there- well, good riddance. He hoped that the ruffians of Lowtown got out victorious this night.

“Get her, Gavin!” a gruff voice shouted. “Get the damned bitch!”

A throaty laughter answered, and the whoosh of a fireball being hurtled; the alley was suddenly lit up by flames. Fenris had drawn his sword and started running towards the alley even before the blaze died down, because he had recognised that laugh, and the silhouette that had briefly been illuminated by the flames.

 _Hawke_.

Fenris scowled at the corpse of the man he had just killed, then wiped his sword with a rag he always kept tucked in his belt and turned to the mage, his face set in a dark scowl.

“Whatever possessed you, Hawke?” he spat, only the gravely tone of his voice betraying how angry he was. Maker, when he had first seen her, fighting alone against a dozen men in a dark alley, laughing like a maniac, he had been scared out of his wits for her. He would never admit it, of course, but his heart had stopped beating for a moment, especially as he’d caught sight of the same man that now laid dead at his feet, ghosting from behind her, a long, curved dagger aimed for her neck.

For one horrible moment he’d though he’d be too late, that he would have to watch her fall to her knees, her throat slit, her blood gushing out to paint the cobblestones. For one chilling, horrifying moment, he’d though he would have to watch the light in those amazing lilac eyes of hers fade- the thought was abhorrent. It sent a chill down his spine to think of it again now- and made his anger flare.

She was crouched down, her shoulders slumped as she tried to make her panting breath slow down.  The barest of glances towards him had him recoiling slightly with the fires that were dancing in her eyes- for a moment, he saw pain and anger both in her expression, before she schooled her face back into a cold, distant mask of indifference.

“I was bored,” she casually said, then rose to her feet.

“Are you daft, Hawke?” he approached her, his markings suddenly aflame. “You could have died!”

“Your point being?” she bent to search the pockets of one of the men they had just killed, her nose twitching at the hideous scent of burned hair.

Fenris grabbed on to her forearm and jerked her towards him, furiously angry with her and how casual she was being with the prospect of her death, a prospect that had chilled him down to his toes.

“Hawke!” he spat through clenched teeth. “I will not have you jesting about it!”

She jerked her hand out of his grasp, then shoved him hard with both hands, making him stumble slightly to get his balance. Her face was flushed and her eyes glinting, but Fenris thought he saw tears gleam in her eyes for just a second.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “I’m not your pirate whore. You don’t get to...” She feel silent, her eyes going wide. Fenris just stood there, shocked beyond any ability of speech, as she drew in a deep breath and averted her eyes. Her shoulders slouched and she brought a trembling hand up to her forehead, before she looked away.

“Just...don’t touch me,” her voice broke, and she turned about and sprinted out of the alley, before Fenris had any chance to gather his wits.

* * *

It took Fenris a long time- after spending at least half an hour outside Hawke’s door, contemplating if he should go talk to her- to return home that night.

He was shocked, still not believing how hostile she had been towards him, the words she had tossed him. “I’m not your pirate whore,” she had said. Obviously, she knew about Isabela and him, he guiltily thought. But the fact that it had bothered her, for some reason...for the first time he started asking himself if perhaps Isabela was right.

 He caressed the wood of Hawke’s door with a sigh. The best thing would be to go inside and demand an answer of her, but he had no qualms admitting it...he was afraid. Afraid that she might laugh in his face and tell him that he was a fool for thinking just for a moment that she might still be interested in him, that she might still be feeling anything but distaste for him.

He sighed once again, then he looked up to her window- he knew which one it was, he had spend many nights gazing up at it, waiting like a little lovesick fool to catch a glimpse of her silhouette.  He ‘d spent many nights dreading he might see the silhouette of someone else, too, someone she had admitted into the same bed he had spent what was the most memorable night of his life.

The most memorable, and the most laden with guilt. He had treated her deplorably, he knew that, running off in the dead of night like he had.

Anger at his own self rose inside him to choke him like a plume of black smoke. He should have apologised ages ago. He should have explained. She’d had that hopeful look on her eyes when they’d first met after that night, a slightly hurt and confused expression in her eyes. It had faded day by day, until a few weeks later he caught her eyes on him and her cold, detached expression had driven nails of pain through his soul.

She had in all probability been expecting some explanation, some mention of their night together...perhaps, even a word from him to reassure her that she meant something more than a warm body he had tumbled into bed with. But he had been a coward; he had hidden the regret in his heart and given her the cold shoulder. It was fitting that she’d returned it in spades.

He returned to his mansion, walking without really noticing where he was stepping, something hard and cold settling in his gut.

 _Don’t touch me_ , she had said. _Don’t touch me_. Even his touch was abhorrent to her now.

_I’m not your pirate whore._

He cringed. _Venhedis_ , Hawke knew he had bedded Isabela. What had he been thinking? It must have felt like a slap on her face, knowing that he had slept with the Rivaini. It must have felt like the ultimate snub. Especially if she’d caught the easy, casual way with which Isabela touched him.

To be denied someone’s touch because it brought them pain, and then turn around and catch them screwing around with one of your friends...Maker, what must she have thought him to be? A hypocrite, no doubt. A liar. One who offered feeble, weak excuses to slink out of the bedroom of a woman he had just scratched an itch with.

 He walked into his mansion and made it wearily up the stairs. His step stilled outside the door to his room, though, and he half pulled his sword out of its sheath when he realised there was a fire burning in the hearth, from the sound of crackling wood and the roar of flames. He had banked the fire carefully before leaving and now he just stood there, puzzled. Why would an intruder take the time to warm the room with a lit fireplace?

“I can hear you, you know,” an amused voice drawled behind the door. “You’re just standing there thinking about bursting in and fisting me. And not in the _good_ way.”

Fenris immediately relaxed. He pushed the door open, still holding his sword in hand.

“Isabela,” he dryly acknowledged the pirate that was lounging in his favourite chair, facing the fire, a bottle of wine in her hand. “I see you have appropriated more wine from my cellar.”

She raised the bottle as a salute and took a huge gulp. “Your last of the Agreggio.”

Fenris scowled and turned to her with an irritated expression. “I was saving that for a special occasion.”

“Oh, do tell,” she drawled. “What special occasion? When Hawke and you do the horizontal Remingold again?”

Fenris shot her a withering look. “No chance of that ever happening,” he tightly said. “Especially after tonight.”

Isabela’s bored posture changed in a flash. She set the bottle on the floor next to her and leaned forward. “What happened, sweet thing? You seem a little tense.” She winked at him and smiled lewdly. “Maybe you want some of Auntie Bela’s brand of special tension relief?”

“ _Isabela_.”

She didn’t let his disapproving tone or deep scowl faze her. “Well, something’s got your knickers in a twist. Tell Auntie Bela what’s wrong, lover boy.”

Fenris debated whether he should tell her for a few tense seconds, and then sighed and took a seat on the bench across from her, his shoulders slumping and his hands hanging between his knees.

“I came across her, fighting some thugs. Alone, the harebrained idiot.”

Isabela waved nonchalantly . “Did she get a booboo? Is that why you’re so upset? Well, go and kiss it better!”

Fenris shot her another cold, distasteful look. “ She’s not hurt. But she was angry. I believe her words were ‘ _I’m not your pirate whore. Don’t touch me_.’”

Isabela’s relaxed, casual stance changed in a flash. “Shiiiit!” she hissed. “She knows?”

“Apparently.”

Isabela got up and started pacing, obviously upset. “Did you tell her?” she turned to Fenris with an accusing look on her face.

“No.”

“Well, did you explain? Did you tell her it was that one time, that we were both shit-faced drunk and that we’re just drinking buddies now?”

“It escaped me.”

Isabela threw her hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. “You jackass!”

Fenris raised his eyes with a puzzled expression. “I don’t see what good that would have done. She clearly despises me.”

“Oh, fuck it till it turns blue and dies! Are you completely blind?”

Fenris just raised an eyebrow, watching Isabela as she paced back and forth, frustration evident in every tense line of her body. A tight frown was creasing her eyebrows and her lips were tightened in a thin line. She came to a halt right in front of him and leaned down to jab a finger in his chest.

“She’s jealous, you twit!” she hissed.

Fenris blinked in surprise then a little snort escaped him. “Don’t be absurd, Isabela.”

“Listen to me, you blind dumb fuck!” Isabela jabbed her finger in his chest again. “She saw us together tonight, and thought there’s something still going  on. You have to get off your ass and go explain to her.”

Fenris regarded the pirate with a questioning look. “You seem oddly unperturbed by her reference to you as a whore.”

Isabela straightened up and shrugged. “Sticks and stones, tiger,” she said, then looked away for a second before her usual amused smile split her face. “She’s angry. I pissed  on the territory she had marked. She doesn’t really mean it.”

Fenris’ dark eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. “I am nobody’s ‘territory’. I do not belong to Hawke, or to anyone else. It is my choice what I do with my time, and who I choose to spend my nights with. I have earned my freedom, Rivaini.”

Isabela’s smile hardened. “Oh, really?” she leaned over Fenris, then her eyes trailed down his arm, to rest on the red band he still had around his wrist, the token of his one night with Hawke. One finger trailed the now threadbare fabric, before the pirate eyes  narrowed. “You were saying?”

Fenris’ eyes fixed on the red band as well, but he opted not to answer- what was there to say, anyway? It served no purpose to try and hide the statement the red band made. It was right there for all the world to see, a palpable admission of him belonging to Hawke- even if he didn’t care to admit it with words. The gesture had been enough for all to see, all except Hawke. There surely was no reason to hide from Isabela; the pirate knew of his feelings for the mage.

He pulled his hand back, but to his annoyance, found that Isabela had wrapped the end of the strip of red fabric around her fingers. He raised his eyes to her face, scowling.

“If you’re not hers, sweet thing,” she drawled, her brown eyes challenging him, “take this off, and then take me to bed and hammer me like a bent nail.”

A soft gasp of surprise sounded from the door, and both Fenris and Isabela turned their eyes to see Hawke standing there, her lip bitten between her teeth, an expression of abject betrayal clearly reflected in her exotic, lilac-coloured eyes. They both stood there, frozen in time, their bodies inches from each other in what looked to be an intimate moment, one end of the red band wrapped around Fenris’ wrist, the other around Isabela’s fingers.

Fenris jerked back with a little jolt when he realised what this might look like to Hawke, cringing inwardly, while Isabela slowly drew her hand away and also stepped back. They exchanged a look that was both guilty and mortified, before Isabela recovered, and with a small wink and a teasing smile blew him a kiss then winked and sauntered past Hawke.

“See you later, darlings,” she drawled behind her back. “Three is a crowd- unless no clothes are involved. Call me if you need me.”

Hawke watched her go, her back turned to Fenris. Her shoulders slumped, losing a bit of their rigidity once the pirate was out the door, then tensed again when Fenris called out to her in his deep, throaty voice.

“Hawke?”

“I came here....to...to apologise,” she mumbled, not even looking at him. “I was...abrupt with you...and...and I should just go.”

She turned to him then,  a sad smile gracing her lips.  “Sorry to interrupt.”

“You were not interrupting anything,” Fenris was quick to assure her. “We were just talking.”

A dark swirl of conflicting emotions made Hawke’s eyes glint- anger and pride won in the end, making her raise her chin high and fold her arms defensively against her chest “Bollocks...” she scoffed, then gestured nonchalantly. “But it’s none of my business who you screw, Fenris.”

Fenris jerked as if she had slapped him, before the sudden realisation that she wasn't as disinterested as she claimed hit him. It was something in the rigid, tense lines of her body, something dark and pained that was darkening her eyes that informed him of it, and suddenly hope roared inside him. “Why are you behaving like this, Hawke?” he titled his head to the side, regarding her with curiosity.  “Does the idea of me with Isabela bother you?”

Her chin rose even higher. “You can go fuck a dead fish, if you want to. I don’t care.”

But Fenris was observing her closely now- he didn't fail to see that her bottom lip had a slight tremor to it, or that her hands were not quite steady. “Clearly, you do.” He prowled towards her, something primal igniting in his gut at the way her eyes widened in appreciation- and apprehension. Determined to get the answer to his question, once and for all, he pressed ruthlessly.  “The question is...why?”

“Don’t flatter yourself Fenris,” she narrowed her eyes at him, but once again, Fenris- who was focused on her with an intensity that almost made his whole body vibrate- could tell the little motions her eyes made, darting left and right, as if looking for an avenue of escape.  “I’m just curious...no flashbacks with her?” She sneered in desperate attempt to hide the effect his proximity had on her. “Or is it only _my_ cunt that has the special power to reverse amnesia?”

Fenris’ markings ignited with a flash at the sudden wave of anger that slashed through him. The night they had spent together was precious to him, a memory both cherished and painful, that never failed to make his loins ache and his soul ache with regret. “Do not cheapen what we had that night,” he spat through clenched teeth, his eyes glinting as he took a few more steps towards her.  “Do _not_ cheapen yourself.”

“Had?” her bow-tie lips turned down into a bitter frown. “What _we_ had? _We_ had nothing. _We_ had nothing but a man that just wanted a cheap thrill and a woman....that was stupid. You should have gone to Isabela from the start, Fenris.”

“Hawke. It was not the same.”

She rolled her eyes as an answer. “Bull plus shit equals bullshit.”

“I will not insult your intelligence by denying I bedded her. But it was _not_ the same.”

She rolled her eyes. “A cunt is a cunt. No big difference.”

“With you,” Fenris took another step closer, his body now inches from hers, “it was...profound.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” she looked away, but there was everything but mirth on her face. Instead, pain flashed in her eyes briefly. “You wouldn’t have left if...” she drew in a deep breath, gathering her composure. “I think...I’d better go now.”

One strong, corded forearm rose to block her escape, hemming her against the wall.  “My question remains, Hawke,” he drawled, determined not to be side-swept, keeping his voice low and intimate.  “Why are you so upset? Why does it bother you so much?”

“It does not.” She turned her back to him, clenching her fists by her sides as if trying to convince herself. “I just...don’t have a taste for hypocrites.” She cast him a small, defeated look over her shoulder, making his insides clench with the dejected, resigned look in her eyes. “I should go,” she said again, her voice ghostly thin, then tried to move around him, heading for the door.

“No.” Fenris moved with all the speed his lyrium markings gave him, blocking her exit with his body. “Not before you answer me. Why does it bother you so much? What do you care what Isabela and I might or might not have done together?”

Hawke drew back, her eyes wide and alarmed, but Fenris didn't let her withdraw into her cold, detached mask again. He stepped closer, almost pushing her against the wall, and noticed with mounting excitement how erratically her pulse started beating at the hollow of her neck, how she had to gulp her next breath- and how wide her eyes were, the irises blown to almost all black. Leaning close, he let his breath caress her face, his lips a hair’s span away from her sweet smelling, soft skin. His mouth watered. Maker, he wanted her so much- but he wanted to hear her admit that she did so too, more than anything else. So he shoved away the almost violent, primal reaction of his body to hers, to the scent of her heated skin, to the proximity of her quivering flesh.

“I shall not let you leave, not again, Hawke,” his voice was soft, soothing, but laced with determination. “Not before you answer me.”

Huge lilac eyes rose to his face. Her sweat had started slicking her skin while her heart galloped and her breath came out in little pants. At the sight of her pale, almost panicky face, something kicked hard against his ribcage, but he refused to let it sway him. He had to know, once and for all, if Isabela was right, and Hawke still wanted him. He had to know, before he went insane with what-ifs and unanswered possibilities. She was shaken, clearly apprehensive- the sight made him feel ten inches tall, but he also knew that Hawke was usually too controlled, too disciplined, to let her true emotions out if she didn’t want to. Shaken as she was with anger and fear, she would give him the answer he wanted- for better or for worse.

“I’m not the one in the habit of leaving, Fenris,” she gulped, having to swallow heavily before she could make her voice work.

Fenris chose to ignore the barb. He inched even closer, his breath now ghosting over her trembling lips. “Why?” he pushed on. “Why does the thought bother you? I will have my answer, Hawke.”

She pushed against his chest with all her might, her whole body shaking, but he stood his ground, digging his heels in. “Let me go!” she hissed, her voice almost desperate. “Move out of my way!”

“No.” His voice was velvety soft, like molten chocolate, like the caress of silk on her agitated nerves. She shivered under its effect, a whole bodied quiver that rocked her down to her toes. Fenris drew in a deep breath and held it- one long fingered hand rose to cradle her face, hesitantly, but with amazing tenderness. Despite the blind, almost panicky urge to escape, to get away from those piercing green eyes that bore into her soul, Hawke felt herself relax against his touch. Her breath hitched and longing flooded her as she closed her eyes on a sigh. Maker, his touch felt so good on her skin, so right, so perfect. One finger traced her jawline, and suddenly lust was added to the mix, desire hot enough to burn, further fogging her mind, weakening her defences even more. “Tell me why, Hawke,” his voice cajoled, dropping to an intimate octave that felt like another caress on her heated skin, decadently soft in its hoarseness. She had to lick her lips- she could almost taste his breath on them. “Why do you care?”

Something cracked inside her, and she quivered under the force of it, of the pent up desire and love that she had caged behind a wall for so long. At this distance, with his warm, hard body radiating heat, with his breath ghosting over her lips, with those piercing green eyes close enough for her to get lost in, she could not hide. She could not turn her gaze away and pretend. It was impossible.

She opened her eyes on a shaky breath. “Because I...I love you,” she sobbed, then bit her lip. Her body tensed up as she realised what she had just admitted.  She batted his hand away, her breath hitching in her throat with panic and then ducked under his arm and lurched towards the door, desperate to get away before she could see the rejection she was sure was going to be written in his eyes.

* * *

Panic gave her speed. She didn't even realise how she made it down the stairs, how she didn’t catch an ankle in the loose planks gaping between the steps. The door was all she could see, a bright spot in the wall in front of her, a gateway that would take her away from the man she had just admitted she loved, the man that cared nothing for her.  Shame flooded her, shame and despair as she moved towards that door as in slow motion, focused on nothing else but it, and the escape it provided.

Maker, what had she done? How had she allowed herself to be so weak?

Why did the damned door seem to be so far away?

A hand clamped on to her forearm and she was span around violently- her momentum carried her forward, until she was falling, vaguely hoping that she wouldn’t hit the floor, that it would open to swallow her up. A warm chest broke her fall, a solid mass of steely muscle. She heard a small oomph, carried on a surprised exhale of air- two arms rose to wrap around her back, holding her still, trapped on top of the male body that she was sprawled upon.

Blindly, with tears making her vision hazy and shaky, she raised her hand and hit against that chest, that could belong to no one else except Fenris.

“Let me go!” she wailed. “Let me go! You don’t love me, let me go! Go be with her, I don’t care!”

A pair of strong, elegant fingers got hold of her cheeks, holding her face steady as she sobbed. “What a pair of idiots we make,” he drawled, amusement and tenderness in his voice. Her eyes flew open in shock and curiosity, to see a small sad smirk curling his lips. Suddenly, she realised with a jolt where she was- sprawled on top of him, his legs tangled with hers, his hard body cushioning hers. She tried to jerk away, fighting against the sigh of relief that wanted to escape her- it felt so good to be touching him again, it felt so right.

Fenris’ fingers tightened along her face, and she raised startled eyes to his. Soft, unguarded for once, his green eyes were roaming all over her face, a look of awed disbelief written in their depths. Their gazes caught and held, time standing still as they looked at each other, a maelstrom of emotions dancing between them.

His head lifted just a fraction of an inch. “I will have you say it once more, Hawke,” his nose nudged hers, eliciting another little shocked sigh, his finger sliding in her pitch black hair to caress her scalp. “Without the histrionics this time.”

She frowned. “Histrionics?” One hand climbed up to swipe at the tears that had run down her face and suddenly she was angry, mad enough for her control on her magic powers to slip. Her whole body tensed, and magic started licking along her skin, cajoling her to let it loose- her body temperature went up a notch, then another. Flames started dancing in her lilac eyes, darkening them to almost purple. “Let go off me,” she hissed, lightning sparkling along her fingers, “before I show you how a mage gets ‘histrionics’”.

He just smiled his lopsided little smirk, confusing her to no end. She had thought the first mention of magic would make him jump away from her as if being scalded with boiling water, but instead, one of his hands moved behind her head to cup her nape, and his green eyes alighted with mirth.

“Spirited,” he said approvingly. “That was the first thing I noticed about you.”

And then his lips where on hers, kissing her tenderly, softly, with a hidden smile playing around his mouth. A little shocked gasp escaped her, and his tongue found the perfect opportunity to slip in her mouth. One touch of his tongue against hers, one slow, languid flick before it drew back. His eyes closed on a moan and his whole body tensed as if her taste was something he savoured with all his being. She sighed and went completely boneless, surrendering to the low purring rumble that started vibrating his chest.

“Fenris?” she was shattered, shocked down to her soul at the look of awe and pleasure so clearly written on every line of his face as he savoured the stolen little taste he had gotten, his eyes closed in intense concentration. She searched his face- Maker. What did this mean? Did it mean he wanted her?

His eyelids flickered and he opened his eyes again, giving her a half-lidded look of such burning desire that she lost her breath. “Say it, Hawke,” he commanded in his low, rumbling voice, hoarse as sandpaper, soft as the most sinfully rich silk.

“Say what?” she croaked, too caught in the predatory look on his hard face and soft eyes, her mind reeling from shock.

“Say you want me,” his hand caressed down the side of her face, down over her creamy neck. “Say it. My name. Say: “Fenris, I want you”.”

She obeyed him without even thinking. “Fenris,” his name slid out of a half-choked sigh, “I want you.”

He closed his eyes again and clenched his teeth, a shudder of pure pleasure wracking his body underneath her. His other hand slipped down her back, to rest at the hollow of her spine. “Fenris, I love you,” he prompted, his fingers not quite steady on her body.

“Maker help me, yes, I do.”

“Say it.”

She had to swallow twice to make her throat work. “Fenris,” she moaned. “I love you. So much.”

“Maker be praised,” he sighed  before he captured her lips again in a surging, passionate kiss. She half-moaned  and half sobbed into it, as his tongue slid along hers, as his lips kissed her hard enough to bruise. Something coiled deep inside her belly at the primal, primitive power of that kiss, at the possessive, fiery need it revealed. His scent hit her at an instinctive level inside her, deep down where no logic had ever stepped foot, deep where her body knew only of instinct and the unrestricted, insistent  demands of her womanly core. Somewhere in her centre, where social conventions, logic, feelings had never mattered, a female animal opened her eyes and purred in delight- she had found her match, the primarily male part that completed what was missing of her soul; and that female animal, all instinct, wanted him with an intensity that was suddenly frightening and exhilarating at the same time, like a deep drop from a rocky cliff.

She writhed on top of him, suddenly as out of control as his kiss wanted her, as the pressure of his lips and mouth demanded of her. A small keening cry escaped her, his name whispered in a plea that was as old as time itself. A masculine, primal growl of want replied along with the tightening of the male body underneath her, the hard, unyielding muscles underneath her going rock hard with anticipation. She gave herself over to him, let his mouth plunder her like a brutal conqueror; his tongue plunged in and out of her soft, pliant mouth, imitating what his body wanted to do  to hers.

She vaguely registered his fingers running down the length of her body, the way he gripped the fabric of her robes and pulled them upwards, until they were pooling around her waist. She gasped as a cold little breeze touched her heated skin, then gasped once more when the heat of his elegant hand cupped her round bottom, pulling her upwards into their kiss more insistently,  positioning her so that her core was right over the bulge straining in his leathers.

Their eyes locked together, their hearts beating in tandem, their panting breaths intermingling, they gave up all logic and caution; both of them, at the same time. Hawke forgot to worry about what she had admitted, forgot to care that he hadn't admitted the same. Fenris forgot to worry that all hurts between them had not been erased; he pushed away the little nagging voice at the back of his brain that insisted to settle every and all misunderstanding between them before they let desire loose.

A few frantic movements, some awkward and  uncomfortable fumbling, before Fenris was able to unlace his britches and kick them off, Hawke’s legs hopelessly tangled with his and hindering him. A curse and a hissed breath as Hawke jabbed him painfully with her elbow as she tried to rid herself of her smalls; an apologetic half smile and a frantic kiss by the fiery mage in return. Some adjusting, a little repositioning, bodies trying to find the best angle and position- and then they were joined. One thrust, Hawke’s eyes widening in shock and pleasure, and he was inside her vice-like heat up to the root. His body arched up from the floor, as incredible pleasure, both physical and emotional, lit up his markings and made his breath leave him an a rugged moan. The movement sent him even deeper inside her velvety heat, and she gasped again, then her eyes closed as her head lolled.

“Fenris,” she choked. “Oh, Maker. Fenris. _Fenris_. You magnificent bastard.”

Despite the pleasure that had made him tense up and clench his teeth, a little chuckle escaped him at that; a snug sense of male pride at being able to make her unravel like this softened the edge of his desire and gave him the control he needed to last more than a few seconds. His hips arched upwards as if on their own, making them both moan as rigid flesh glided through wet, quivering one. She pushed off his chest, rising to better take him inside,  her hands supported on his sculpted stomach.

It was his turn to gasp her name as she drew up only to slide back down, taking him in again in a smooth move that had her throw her head back and keen her pleasure. His hands came up to clench on her hips, guiding her; he wanted to feel that again, wanted to feel the slow, smooth glide of his length inside her tight sheath as she undulated slowly on top of  him.

“Again,” he growled, his green eyes burning. “Slower. Deeper.”

She obeyed him, her whole body trembling. Her thighs shook as she moved upwards, until only the thick crown of his cock remained inside her, then she slid back down, taking him inside her in an agonisingly slow pace that was enough to tease them both, but not nearly enough to put out the fire of want raging between them.

“Like this?” she gasped, then teased him and herself as she repeated the caress.

“Yes,” his words were choppy, disjointed, as if he had forgotten how to speak common. “Like that. Again.”

She moaned as she did it once more, sliding up his shaft only to sink down on him again, taking him incredibly deep. His hands tightened on her hips, almost to the point of bruising. His control was hanging by a thread, a gossamer thin line; he wanted this to last. He wanted it to be slow and languid, far removed from the quick, careless romp he’d had with Isabela. He wanted to prove to her how special it could be between them, how profound.

But he could not take this agony of pleasure and want any more, so when she rose up to take him for the fourth time, he groaned loudly, then snapped his hips upwards to bury himself inside her in a rough, swift thrust.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Oh, yes. Maker’s breath. _You_ do that again.”

 Another smile escaped him, but this one was predatory, wolfish; In a flash, he sat up, curling his legs behind her so she had to wrap hers around his back. A firm tug had her perched higher on his lap, her breasts in line with his mouth. He latched on to that mouth-watering nipple, suckling and worrying it between his teeth, while he moved her up and down with his strong hands cupping her luscious ass.

She surrendered once more, easily, her prized control gone under the dual assault of his mouth on her breast and his cock buried deep in her body. Her hands clasped onto his shoulders, her nails leaving half-crescents in his skin as she fought to anchor herself against the onslaught on her senses. One, two, three more thrusts until he found his rhythm, and she was already unravelling, tightening around him, moaning in his sensitive ear.

He gave her no quarter, no reprieve, and her own fiery nature caught on; after all control was lost, all that remained was for her to become wild. She had always feared that unbridled, feral side of her nature, she had clamped down on it, ruthlessly keeping it in check with rigid discipline and a firm hand. But now it had broken free and like a beast caged for far too long, it was completely untamed.  Her fingernails drew blood as she hung onto his shoulders, throwing her torso back to better grind against him, her centre rubbing against his hard pubic bone, adding yet another level of tormenting pleasure. He responded by hoisting her up even more completely, their bodies now meshed together; every thrust inside her jerked them both upwards. Their bodies, slick with sweat and trembling with exertion, meshed together into one body, one flesh, moving together.

“Hawke, my Hawke,” his voice murmured against the skin of her neck, his mouth open in gasping pleasure, and she relinquished her tight hold on his shoulders to slide her hands in his thick, soft while hair, fisting the silky strands.

“Fenris,” she gasped again. “Maker’s breath,” she choked as another tremor of completion raced inside her, “if you leave me again, I’ll kill you.”

“Never.” A powerful thrust punctuated his promise, then another. “Never,” he said again, emotion making his voice thick, another plunge inside her hammering the promise of his words in stone. “Never,” he repeated, timing his words with his strokes. “Never, never, never, never...”

It turned into a chant that was interspersed with his thrusts and accompanied by her moans, until with a final plunge inside her he came undone in her arms, spilling his essence deep inside her with a series of broken, breathless moans. She clenched around him., as if trying to milk every drop of his seed from his twitching length, following him down that dark, deep plunge that took both their breaths away. She screamed his name as the final wave crested over her, sweeping her away to a place where nothing else but pleasure and completion existed, nothing else than bliss potent enough to almost be pain.

Her head lolled forward. Her every muscle felt like jelly and her body boneless and sated. The small of his heated skin tickled her nose as she laid her head on his shoulders, sighing in absolute contentment, languid and feeling safer than she ever had. Vaguely, she realised they were still connected, that his seed was running down the crease of her thigh, and that she could hear him trying to calm his breathing by drawing deep, calming breaths. Now that the fog of desire and pleasure had started to ebb away, thought and worries started trying to penetrate the happy cloud she was in. Would his memories return again? Was this what he had done with Isabela? What did this mean for them?

 In an unprecedented display of indifference, she shoved all those thoughts away. She felt safe, she felt sated, she was in his arms. She would worry about everything else later.

“I can hear you thinking,” Fenris murmured softly, equally unwilling to move or break the bubble of contentment that surrounded them both.  “Cease worrying Hawke. I meant every word I uttered.”

“Balls,” she sighed, but buried her head even more firmly against his flesh. “But right now, I don’t care.”

“You said you love me,” Fenris sighed, his whole body tensing. “Did you not mean it?”

She raised her head to look at him; his dark eyebrows were scrounged up over his narrowed eyes, while he waited for her answer with his breath held.

“I meant it,” she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder again. A small smile curled her lips as she felt him relax. “But what does that solve?”

“Everything,” he said, his fingers drawing circles on her back. “And nothing, you are correct.”

“It solves nothing unless you love me too,” she corrected, her brain-to-mouth filter still shut off, “and everything, if you do.”

“It is settled then,” he chuckled, “because I do.”

Her breath caught. Her heart started hammering in her ribcage. She drew back to look at him again, her eyes wide with shock and hope and the fear that she might have misunderstood him.

“You do?”

A kiss answered her, sweet and tender, making her breath hitch with what it revealed.

“I am yours, Hawke,”

“It was about fucking time,” a voice drawled from the doorway. “And about time fucking, if you ask me.”

“ISABELA!” both of them shouted, and only got a laughter fading as the Rivaini retreated to the door, then down the stairs.

Fenris chanced a look at his partner, then bit off a grown as he saw that she had blushed as red as a ripe tomato, and struggling to cover herself, trying to clamber off his lap. He was afraid the Rivaini pirate’s reappearance would bring the matter of his tryst with her up again, and that Hawke would draw back in anger. She seemed to have grown cold all of a sudden, chilling his heart with dread, but on closer inspection he saw that she was just ashamed.

Something primal and possessive roared inside him as she rose to her feet and blushed even more at the evidence of their lovemaking that wetted her thighs. He watched her try and cover herself with a growl of building desire, as he observed his seed slide down her leg. Somehow, the idea of her being filled to the brim with his semen until it found root inside her made his blood boil, and watching it slide out of her offended him at a deeply male, primitive part of his soul.

“This won’t do,” he scowled, making her raise startled eyes to his face. “This won’t do at all.”

“What?” she had enough time to ask, her eyes wide, before he scooped her up and carried her to his bed.

“This,” he brought his hand down to wipe away the juices that had escaped her. The blush on her face darkened even more, as his eyes darkened. “My hard work, ruined,” he smiled darkly as he surged inside her again. “Let me correct that.”

“Be my guest,” she gasped, willingly arching up to accept him.

* * *

It could have been hours, or even minutes later, when she woke up to find his heat gone from next to her. Suddenly, she felt really, really cold, like a chilled hand had squeezed her insides until they turned to ice.

She turned to her right, certain she would see him standing by the fireplace, with his armour on and an excuse ready, preparing herself for the pain that was sure to come, chastising herself for allowing her control to slip so much, for letting her good sense be clouded.

“I told you,” his voice rang from the floor next to the bed. “Never.”

She leaned over to see him sitting on the floor, gloriously naked, his head held between his hands. His voice had been calm a moment ago, bit his body was shaking as she looked at him now, and a fine sheen of sweat that had nothing to do with their previous activities was making his skin glisten.

“Your memories?” her voice was ghostly thin, her heart still beating in fear even though he had just reassured her that he wouldn’t go.

He nodded yes, then with a sigh he shook his head and rose to his feet, his body still trembling. He shot her a rueful look before slipping into bed next to her again. As soon as she wrapped her arms around his lanky body and his head rested on her chest, another sigh escaped him, and he went boneless in her embrace, relaxing totally.

“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she said, her voice soft.

“Don’t be,” he murmured. “It is not your fault.”

“I’m curious though,” she said with a little embarrassed chuckle, as her finger carded through his hair. “You didn't get these flashes with Isabela. Why? Why only with me? Is it because of my magic?”

He let out a long suffering sigh. “I have already told you, Hawke. It was different. With you it was, _it is_ , profound. With Isabela it was just taking care of a physical need.”

She thought about it for a moment, then she laughed, finally believing him.

“She’s going to burst in any minute now, calling you a bastard.”

“I distinctly remember _you_ beating her to it.”

“A   _magnificent_ bastard, let’s not forget that.”

He laughed, the sound glorious in how it was hoarse and soft as velvet at the same rime. “And yours. _Your_ bastard.”

“Mine, yes,” she leaned for a kiss. “Always mine. _Only_ mine.”

His lips were still curled into a small smile when he looked up to give her the kiss she wanted.

“Let’s make some new memories,” he said, and it was the best suggestion Hawke had ever heard.

The end.

 

 

 

  


 

 

 


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